


The Old Days

by oh_johnny



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:09:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6364369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_johnny/pseuds/oh_johnny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Paul have made decisions about their relationship. Or have they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Old Days

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of an old fic that first appeared in the lj comm Beatlesslash

Paul stood at the buffet surveying the platters of shrimp, the fresh fruit, all the delicacies that stardom brought. They’d wrapped up this part of the shoot today so this was by way of being a celebration before they went back to London in two days. They’d managed to talk the film company into giving them a couple of days to unwind before sending them back to the cold of an English winter.

“This is the life, eh Johnny?” he said, rubbing his hands together in glee before pouncing on more of the shrimp.

“Mm. Sun, sand, birds in bathing suits, not bad at all,” John agreed. “Remember the old days, Paul?”

“What, you mean like last year?”

“Nah. Hamburg. Cold as a witch's tit, no money for grub, all of us in one grotty little room. We’ve come a long way, yeah?”

“Toppermost of the poppermost, Johnny.”

John grinned at that and picked at the shrimp on Paul’s plate.

“’Ere! Give over! Get your own!”

“Now, now, Paulie, don’t be greedy. Was a time you were more than happy to let me pick from your plate.”

Paul smiled at him, “Yeah, well, that was a long time ago too.”

“Do you ever regret it, Paul?”

“What? Us? No. Never.”

“What about the end of us?”

“Sometimes, maybe,” Paul admitted. “I miss having you in my bed at nights, you know, and sex in the afternoon, and all the sneaking around. It was fun and exciting and sexy as all hell.”

“Yeah. Me too. I suppose it’s better this way...”

“You asking, John, or telling?”

“I don’t know,” said John quietly, and wandered off to rejoin the party, leaving Paul staring after him, mouth agape, shrimp forgotten.

Later, they met up again by the champagne fountain.

“Here John, just hold this plate for a minute, will ya?”

“More shrimp, Paulie? Some sort of mad craving? Here,” he whispered frantically, “you’re not preggers are you?”

Paul stuck his tongue out at this prompting kissing noises from John.

“Don’t you stick that thing out at me unless you mean it, mate. You’ll be putting all sorts of ideas in my head.”

Paul just grinned, took his plate of shrimp and wandered away.

The party went on for hours, long after the food had disappeared. The band played a mix of standards and rock and roll, Ringo sitting in with them for a while, always happiest behind the drums. George was out on the patio whispering something into the ear of a beautiful blonde who was giggling away. Paul was sat on a couch watching the dance floor, gingerly rubbing his stomach, the last plate of shrimp having clearly been one too many. John suddenly plopped down beside him.

“John,” Paul nodded at him.

“Paul,” John nodded back with the exact same inflection.

“None of the birds to your liking then?”

“No. Not in the mood for them tonight.”

Something in the way he said it made Paul look at him sharply.

“John?” he asked, softly.

“Yeah?”

“What’s going on?”

“I miss you, Paulie. I want you.”

“Johnny,” Paul sighed, “we decided a long time ago not to go down this road. That it wasn’t right for us.”

“I know, Paulie, but, I don’t know, call it the warm ocean breeze or the prospect of a couple of days off or the full moon or something but all night there’s only been one thing on my mind.”

“And that is?” Paul inquired, whispering.

John inched closer to him on the sofa, put his mouth up against Paul’s ear, breathed in his scent, softly whispered his answer.

“You. I want you. I want to be inside you. I want to lay you down and bugger you senseless. I want to hear you call my name. I want to make you beg. I want to see you naked and touch all of you and put my mouth on you and feel your hands wrap around me and your tongue, oh God _your tongue_ , on me and feel heat and sweat and lust and all the things we haven’t had in so fucking long.”

“Jesus, John.”

“Yeah. So?”

Paul was quiet for a moment, thinking.

"What about tomorrow?” he finally asked.

“Tomorrow we’ll wake up and deal with it, however we decide.”

“However?”

“Yeah. Go on, don’t go on. However. We’ll work it out, Paulie. We always have. But tonight…”

“Yeah. Tonight.”

“So, yes?”

“Yes.”


End file.
